Jon Connington I
He had been devastated when he had heard the news, his silver Prince, Rhaegar, dead at the hands of the usurper. He had fallen into despair afterward, he had no way to avenge Rhaegar, and all his heirs were dead. There was Viserys, of course, but the Golden Company would never rise for him. He had no gold, no history with the company, and Jon knew that the Golden company wouldn't be very eager to rise for a Targaryen, given the Golden Company's history as the sworn swords of House Blackfyre. It still irked him to this day that he had been reduced to fighting as a mere sellsword. But it was better than fighting with the Second sons or the Brave Companions.
It had been two years since the war of the usurper; he refused to call it by any other name. Any hope of House Targaryen retaining its rightful place on the iron throne was dashed when Stannis Baratheon took Dragonstone, and the Martells made peace with the usurper.
The news of Dorne bending its knee to the usurper had angered him greatly, the Martells had claimed to be the staunchest allies of his silver Prince, and yet they had been cowed by one measly old man. Now, the rightful King, Viserys Targaryen, was cowering in Braavos with his infant sister and a few leal Knights.
Jon had thought about going to Viserys and swearing his sword to him, but he was unsure if Viserys would welcome a man whom his father had exiled, and so he had ultimately decided against joining him and his household for now.
He had been saddened when he had heard about the deaths of Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Arthur Dayne, and Ser Oswell Whent. They were loyal men and true, and while he hadn't been overly fond of them, he had respected them and their loyalty to his silver prince.
Arthur Dayne had been strict and rigid, with the highest expectations for everyone around him. And he had expected them to live up to those high expectations. He had been almost as devoted to his silver prince as Jon was. The man had always grated on Jon's nerves, but he had respected him all the same.
Gerold Hightower had been a great bull of a man, just as his epithet implied. He had supported Rhaegar not out of personal loyalty but because he thought that Rhaegar was a better alternative to the mad King. Jon thought it was a shame that he had been slain by Northern savages whilst defending the Prince's mistress. An unworthy end, for a worthy Knight.
Oswell Whent had been a jovial man who rarely took anything seriously. Despite this, however, none could dispute his valor and prowess in battle. He had been loyal to his silver Prince as well, and he had been working with his brother and Prince Rhaegar to call a great council at the tourney of Harrenhall. Those plans were dashed, however when King Aerys unexpectedly came to the tourney. Hearing of Oswell's death had saddened Jon; he was a good man and a good knight.
The Golden Company was currently camping outside the walls of Pentos. Some pissant Khal had grown too big for his breeches and had gotten it into his head to sack Pentos instead of merely accepting the city's offer of tribute like most Dothraki Khals did. So the Golden Company had been contracted by the Magisters of Pentos to put the Khal down. The battle had been a long, brutal, and bloody thing, but ultimately the Golden Company had prevailed. The Dothraki had stupidly charged up the hill where they had laid barricades and fortifications, which had ruined the advantage on the open field that their horses provided them. From there, it was a slaughter. The Khal and his blood riders had been killed, two-thirds of the horde was dead, and the rest was being sold into slavery.
Despite their Westerosi origins, the Golden Company was heavily involved in the slave trade. The practice had started after the death of Bittersteel. Such a practice never would've been tolerated by the first generation of the company, but their descendants had grown up in Essos around slavers and had seen the value in such a lucrative source of gold.
The practice had disgusted Jon, but he could do little about it; he was a mere serjeant and was not involved in how the Golden Company was run.
Jon walked through the battlefield; many members of the Golden Company were picking through the corpses to find what valuables they could find. Others were mercy killing the few Dothraki that had survived the carnage but had been fatally wounded. While still, some were picking up the corpses and dragging them off to great pyres where the corpses would be burned. The head of the Khal who's name Jon had never bothered to learn, was currently on a spike outside of the Golden Company's camp. Jon walked through the gate into the walled camp.
Jon walked through the camp; the camp was well organized, to the point where it would've even pleased Arthur Dayne. Various members of the Golden Company were moving around the camp at cross purposes. Some were performing drills, some were leaving the camp to go to brothels or taverns, and some were heading to the quartermaster for repairs to their weapons or armor. Jon paid them no mind as he walked to the Captain-General's tent; Myles "Blackheart" Toyne was expecting him, although why Jon did not know.
The Golden Company was full of the descendants of Blackfyre supporters, and that made Jon quite uneasy at first. But his fears had quickly been assuaged, the descendants of the supporters of Daemon Blackfyre and his ilk were more Essosi than not, and they hadn't had designs on Westeros since Maelys the Monstrous during the war of the nine penny kings. Besides, the Blackfyres were all dead anyhow. Nevertheless, it served to demonstrate how low he had fallen, that he now must fight alongside men of such bad blood.
Jon walked through the field of golden skulls to the commander's tent. Ever since the death of Bittersteel, it had been a tradition to boil a commander's skull in gold and to display it with the other golden skulls when he died. Jon had always found it to be quite a brutish tradition, but it was not his place to make that judgment.
Jon entered the Captain-General's tent and found Myles hunched over looking at a map of the surrounding area. His famous forebear, Ser Terrence Toyne, had been so fair of face that even the King's mistress could not resist him; Myles Toyne was ugly as sin, except when he smiled, he had a beautiful smile.
Myles looked up at him. "Ah, Jon, good I was expecting you come on in."
Jon walked up to the opposite end of the table so he could face Myles.
"You summoned me, Captain-general?"
"Yes, I did; we have much to discuss, Jon."
He always called him Jon, not Connington nor Serjeant; Jon liked it when he called him by his name.
"How many did we lose?"
Myles grimaced. "About fifty Knights, their horses too, it's nothing we can't replace in time, but every man will make a difference in future battles."
Jon nodded, they had defeated this Khalasser easily enough, but this was one of the smaller Khalassers with an incompetent Khal besides. The larger Khalassers or other Sellsword companies would take far more effort and would result in far more casualties.
"Can we get more recruits when we get back to Tyrosh?"
Myles nodded. "Aye, and it doesn't even have to be Tyrosh either; there are always freemen who are inclined toward a life of blood and coin in every free city."
Blood and coin indeed, the life of a sellsword was as bloody as it is as profitable. Once again, Jon lamented that he had been reduced to this. But it was better than returning to Westeros to beg the usurper for his lands back or settling down and becoming a glorified peasant in Essos.
"What's next for the Golden company?"
Myles chuckled. "Eager for more battle and glory, eh? I can't say I blame you. There's nothing I hate more than all this damn waiting around. After we've sold the rest of the broken Khalssar into slavery, we will collect our payment from the Pentoshi Magisters who hired us, and move on to Myr."
Jon was bothered by how casually Myles mentioned selling people into slavery; even if they were savages, the act of slavery was still an abomination in the eyes of the seven. But only Myles had the right to change that practice within the Golden Company, so he held his tongue.
"Has there been any news of Long Viserys?"
Myles shrugged. "Why should I care about him or his family? The Targaryens got what they deserved, I say."
Jon gritted his teeth; he understood why Myles held a grudge against house Targaryen, he truly did, but that did not mean that he would like it when he insulted the house that Jon had dedicated his life to serving.
"Regardless of what they deserved or not, I think we can both agree that better them than the Baratheons."
Myles grimaced. "Aye, Westeros was meant to be ruled by a descendant of Aegon, the conqueror. A Blackfyre would be best by my reckoning, but a Targaryen would be better than a Baratheon."
Jon knew that despite the extinction of the Blackfyre line that Myles was still fiercely loyal to the Blackfyres. Most of the company that had been born into the Golden Company was fiercely loyal to the Blackfyres. The Blackfyres had led the Golden Company either openly, or in secret for nearly its entire history; Jon shouldn't have been surprised that old loyalties still lingered in the company.
'I suppose the Targaryens are no better than the Blackfyres were now, an exiled dynasty attempting to reclaim their rightful throne with exiled Lords and Knights by their sides,' he thought ruefully.
Myles shook his head. "Regardless, I have a special assignment for you."
Dread pooled in Jon's stomach; he hoped that he was not about to ask of him what he thought he was about to ask of him. They had not spoken of the night before the battle with the Khalasser when they had both gotten roaring drunk and ended up in bed together, but Jon knew it was only a matter of time.
"And what is this assignment?"
Myles chuckled. "Ah, classic Connington! Always wanting to know what he is getting into before rushing to obey like the rest of these overzealous sellswords. Well, if you must know, I'm sending you to collect our pay from Magister Illyrio."
Connington somehow doubted that being sent collect pay was the only thing that Myles wanted of him. A mere common member of the company could've been sent to do this in his place; collecting pay from a client was far too small of a task to send a serjeant to complete.
"What are you not telling me? A common soldier of the company could've easily been sent in my place if this was merely a matter of pay."
Myles grew deadly serious. "Perceptive one, aren't you? Well yes, in truth, there is far more going on here than simply a matter of pay."
Jon was growing frustrated with Myle's attempts at obfuscating the truth from him.
"Wel, out with it. Don't be a vague mummer with me, man."
"This is a matter of Fire and Blood, Kings, succession, bastards, and restoration. This is the opportunity that both the Blacks and the Reds in the company have been waiting for ever since Maelys was slain on the Stepstones, and Rhaegar was slain on the trident."
This only confused Jon more; he couldn't be talking about Viserys, for while a chance to support Viserys would please the Reds, the name for the Targaryen supporters in the company, it would not satisfy the Blacks, who were the Blackfyre supporters in the company. Besides, Viserys was not a bastard, and Jon had not heard of him having a bastard sibling in his company.
After he had finished matters with Myles Toyne, Jon exited the Captain-General's tent and headed toward the place where the horses were being kept. It was a long way to the Magister's manse, and Jon did not feel like walking there.
As Jon walked through the camp, he observed what the various Knights and sellswords were doing. The Goldenheart archers were stringing their bows, some Knights were playing dice on some barrels, and some men were bringing some pillow slaves back to their tents.
Jon continued to walk through the camp; the quartermaster was hammering a piece of steel into shape, some soldiers were leaving the camp to go to the city, likely to enjoy the pleasures that Pentos had on offer, and some talking in small groups around fires.
Jon arrived at the stables and saddled his horse, Griffin, before riding out towards Pentos. He rode through the camp, through the field of the dead where soldiers were burning the bodies of the Dothraki, past the men who had decided to walk on foot to Pentos, and past the common wayfarers.
Jon rode down the road to Pentos; he passed by wayfarers, merchants, and slaves going about their business, but he paid them no mind, and they likewise paid him no mind either.
Jon eventually arrived at the gates to the city of Pentos. The city was beautiful, but none could deny that it was becoming overcrowded and more than a little squalid. Personally, Jon would have taken the cities of Westeros, even King's Landing, to any of the free cities of Essos, save for perhaps Braavos. Jon rode up to the guard whose job it was to keep the flow of people through the gates of Pentos orderly.
"State your business."
"Jon Connington of the Golden Company here to see Magister Illyrio on behalf of the Captain-General Myles Toyne."
The guard nodded. "Aye, the magister has been expecting you; you can head right in; the Magister's manse is on top of that hill over there." he pointed toward a hill southwest of the gate.
Jon nodded and mumbled a thank you before riding his horse through the opened gates of Pentos. The city had massive high walls, many square brick towers, and most of the roofs of the houses and manses were done in tiles. Pentos was a port city more populous than Astapor in Slaver's bay but less populous and less prominent than the cities of Braavos or Volantis. The city was home to many faiths, but the most prominent was the Seven and R'hllor, there was a great Red Temple in the Western part of the city, and the Red priests were known to sing and light their night fires.
Jon eventually arrived at magister Illyrio's manse; an unsullied moved to greet him, officially slavery was banned in the free city of Pentos; nevertheless, there were slaves.
"Magister Illyrio is waiting for you inside."
"Very well, will you take my horse?"
"Of course, Magister Illyrio instructed me to bring your horse to the Manse's stables should you arrive with a horse."
Jon merely nodded and dismounted, handing the reigns to the unsullied before walking off towards the Manse's entrance. Two "servants" opened the doors for him as he walked inside the manse. The manse The manse had pillared galleries, pointed arches, and a tiled courtyard in which mushrooms grew from cracks. Jon arrived at Illyrio's bedroom; the Magister had decorated the bedroom with Myrish carpets. Illyrio was sitting by a window, drinking some spiced Pentoshi wine, he was watching something or someone in the gardens of the manse, but Jon was too far away to see what he was looking at exactly.
Illyrio turned to look at him. "Ah! Jon Connington, exiled lord of Griffin's roost, last remaining friend of Rhaegar Targaryen, welcome, we have much to discuss, my lord," he said as he stood up from where he had been seated and walked into the bedroom.
"What did you wish to speak about magister, out with it."
Men like Illyrio disgusted Jon; it was said that Illyrio did not have a friend that he would not sell for the right price.
"Why so sullen Lord Connington? Do I disgust you so? Surely this is not the first time you have met a fat man?"
It was not the first time he had met a fat man; no, there were many lords in Westeros who were disgustingly fat.
"I said out with it, Magister."
"Very well suit yourself; I need your help in a scheme."
'Finally, I will have some answers about what is really going on with all these schemes and meetings,' he thought.
"And what does this scheme entail?"
Illyrio stroked his forked beard for a moment before answering. "You remember the fall of House Targaryen?"
Jon grimaced, did this fat bastard really feel the need to rub salts in his open wounds?
"Robert slew Prince Rhaegar at the trident, Ser Jaime Lannister proved himself an oathbreaker when he slew the King he had sworn to protect with a Golden sword, Lord Tywin Lannister betrayed his old friend and King by sacking his King's city and throwing his lot in with the Usurper, The Old Lion's dogs, the false Knights Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Armory Lorch, slaughtered Prince Rhaegar's heirs, the babe Aegon and the babe Rhaenys, not even his wife was spared, for Princess Elia was raped and cut in half by Ser Gregor, Viserys and Queen Rhaella fled to Dragonstone, and after the Queen died giving birth to Princess Daenerys, the young King Viserys fled across the narrow sea."
Illyrio pointed a fat ringed finger at him. "Ah, but little Prince Viserys is not the true King, even if he would be more legitimate than any Baratheon on the throne."
Jon was confused; fortunately for him, Magister Illyrio soon lifted the fog of confusion that was clouding his mind.
"Follow me," the Magister said as he began to walk out of the bedroom; Jon followed.
Illyrio and Jon walked through the halls of the manse; before coming to a stairwell, they walked down the stairwell until they came upon the garden of the manse.
Three children were playing in the manse; one was a girl of five, the other two were boys, one a boy of four namedays, the other a boy of three namedays.
The girl and the older boy had silver-gold hair and purple eyes; the youngest child was a little boy with brown hair and purple eyes.
The color of the boys' eyes startled him, 'they have Rhaegar's eyes,' he thought.
He turned to the magister. "Are they…"
The magister nodded. "Aye, the boys are your prince's get, one his son and heir by Elia Martell, Aegon Targaryen, the other is his bastard by Lyanna Stark, his name is Orys Waters."
'Aegon and Orys, the conqueror and his half brother come again, how fitting,' he thought.
"Who is the girl?"
"The girl is my daughter by my second wife Serra, the last descendant of the Blackfyres."
'So the Blackfyres are not all dead after all, and if Aegon were to marry this girl when they came of age… then that would bring the Golden Company over to his banner he would have Dorne as well there is no doubt, and perhaps the Reacher Lords although their loyalty will be far less certain' he thought.
Jon walked up to Aegon, his silver Prince's son, who had stopped playing and turned to look at him curiously.
He kneeled before him. "Hello, there, little one, my name is Jon; I was a friend of your father."
The boy smiled a bright smile and hugged. "It's nice to meet you, Jon! I don't remember my father can you tell me about him?"
Jon smiled. "All in due time, little one, I have business with Magister Illyrio first."
Magister Illyrio grinned. "Shall we begin, my lord?"